Death at the Theatre
by TheDoctorsMistress
Summary: Sherlock gets a simple case at a theatre; only it turns out that the case may not be as simple as first assumed - much to Sherlock's satisfaction. - Will develop into Sherlock/OC, and rated T for language and ;maybe; later use..
1. Chapter One

Chapter One:

It was a rainy day in London – nothing new about that. Sherlock Holmes was lying on his sofa, at 221B Baker Street, bored out of his mind.

It had been weeks since he'd been on a case; precisely 2 weeks, 3 days, 7 hours and 51 minutes since his last case had been solved, and now he was waiting for a new one. He felt desperate – if Mycroft called to offer him something to do, he'd probably accept it, because he was so incredibly bored.

For the last few hours Sherlock had been harassing his flatmate, by sending him texts every few minutes, asking everything from; _when will you be home_ to _could you ask your patients if they'd allow me to experiment on them.._ after that last one, Sherlock was pretty sure John had turned off his phone.

A few minutes ago Sherlock had texted Lestrade, asking if he didn't have any cases Sherlock could help out with. He hadn't replied yet.

The front door closed and a few moments later John appeared in the sitting room and sat down in his favourite chair, without saying anything.

"Are you angry with me?" Sherlock asked, after taking in John's gloomy expression.

"No, Sherlock, believe it or not, I've learned to ignore your stupid texts, when I'm at work" John answered, in a monotone voice.

"What's wrong with you, then?" Sherlock asked confused.

A few seconds past before John replied, "Sally told me that she didn't see our relationship going anywhere, and that she felt I was more _suitable_ as a friend than a boyfriend."

"Ahh.. finally" Sherlock said.

"What?"

"I've been waiting for her to dump you for a few weeks now." Sherlock answered.

John starred at his friend, disbelieving "sorry.. you've been _waiting_ for this to happen?"

"Yes, it surprises me that you didn't see it coming.." Sherlock said, not a hint of sympathy in his voice, "it seemed rather obvious to me."

"_Everything _seems obvious to you, Sherlock!" John let out, with a hint of annoyance, while his flatmate just looked flattered at John's statement. "But I suppose I wasn't totally caught off guard by this.. I just.. I like having someone to share my feelings with, and those sort of things."

"John, you do know I'm always there for you if y..." Sherlock started, but was cut off my John:

"That's not what I mean, Sherlock!" An awkward pause followed. "I suppose I just.. _like_.. to be in a relationship."

"That's something I'll never understand" Sherlock stated.

"Somehow I'm not surprised."

Before Sherlock had a chance to make a comeback his mobile had started ringing. It was Lestrade.

"What do you have?" Sherlock asked as he picked up the phone, not even bothering to say 'hello.'

"Death at a theatre, could be a homicide. No witnesses." Lestrade answered.

"I'll be there, which theatre is it?" was Sherlock's only comment.

"_The Royale_"

"OK, I'll be there in fifteen minutes." said Sherlock and hung up.

Sherlock picked up his coat and scarf, and was almost out the door, when John called his name.

"What?" Sherlock asked impatiently. "Oh, sorry, John, did you want to come along?"

"Ehm, yes.. but that's not what I wanted to say." John stated.

"What is it then?"

John sighed and shook his head. "Sherlock, you're in your pyjamas and dressing gown. Just thought you might want to put on something more _suitable_ for a crime scene."

Sherlock looked down himself; John was right. "Ahh.. excellent idea, I'll be ready in three minutes." He said, and hurried to his room.

"I'm counting!" John shouted after him and looked at his watch.

Three minutes later Sherlock stood before him, wearing one of his black suits.

"Come on, John, we haven't got all night!"

* * *

_I apologize for the short first chapter.. I've had this story coming for a while (I've been "researching" to write it and prepared it a LOT!) but for some reason I had no idea how to start it... So this chapter perhaps is a bit _clumsy_.. but it will be a lot smoother when I get into the story; I promise!_

_Oh, and I have no idea if there is a theatre in London called "The Royale" ...I just needed a name, and I didn't wanna go with some "well known" theatre._

_Please feel free to review x)_


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two:

10 minutes later Sherlock walked in through the main entrance at the Theatre Royale, with John close at his heels.

The security-guard, who under normal circumstances would have had to allow them entry was to busy flirting with the female receptionist to notice the two men storming through the foyer. It wasn't until the two men were at the entry to the main auditorium, that the security-guard noticed them and quickly left the receptionist in order to stop the intruders.

"Oi! You two stop.. you have to be checked in at the reception area in order to be allowed entry!" The guard yelled after them. John looked back at him, and gave an apologetic expression, but kept up his pace in order to follow the consulting detective, who had chosen to completely ignore the guard and was now walking down the long aisle towards the stage.

"Hey! I'm not screwing around here! If you don't stop and follow me back to the foyer, I'll have to turn you in to the police!"

Lestrade heard the guard's yells and walked down from the stage in order to greet Sherlock and John. He nodded at the guard and sent him a 'thumb up' to let him know the two men could be let off the hook. The guard sighed and cursed as he turned around and left the auditorium again.

"We've established that it was most likely an accident or a suicide" Lestrade said as soon as Sherlock and John reached him, "so I'm afraid there isn't much of a case for you after all." Sherlock stopped and glared at Lestrade.

"You said on the phone it might have been a homicide.." Sherlock started. Before he had a chance to continue, with what would probably end up as an insult, Lestrade explained:

"Yeah, that was our original thought, but then forensics came along, and they're pretty sure it's either a suicide or just a work accident."

"Forensics?" Sherlock questioned. "Oh, don't tell me... Anderson."

"Well, yeah, but..." Before Lestrade had a chance to finish the sentence, Sherlock had started walking towards the crime scene. "Sherlock, he _is_ our forensics expert. Your personal issues with the man, doesn't make him any less capable of doing his job!" Lestrade called after him and started following the tall detective.

"Oh, please.. personal issues?" Sherlock started in a mocking tone, "I don't have _personal issues_ with anyone. Anderson simply has a way of missing crucial facts. In fact, Detective Inspector, I wouldn't be surprised if there are killers walking free, due to Anderson's ignorance."

"Sherlock, please..." John was about to tell off the consulting detective, when he was cut off by a loud female scream, which made all three men stop and turn towards the sound.

"Honestly, you bloody idiot! Are you trying to apply body piercings? Watch where you prick those fucking needles." A tall dark haired woman yelled at the little blond woman, who was trying to do costume-fitting on the brunette's dress.  
John and Lestrade was looking at the two females, whilst Sherlock had turned on his heel and continued to walk towards the crime-scene, muttering something about actresses being _way_ too over-dramatic.

"Hang on, isn't that... what's her name.. oh yeah, Ellie Nightingale?" John asked Lestrade, as the two men started following Sherlock.

"Yeah, that's her." Lestrade answered. "She's the female lead in the production. My wife.. well, ex-wife, I suppose, has dragged me to _so_ many shows, all because _she_ had the lead."

"You make that sound as if it was a bad thing?" John said sceptically, and elaborated; "she's gorgeous.. _and_ she can actually act! Wouldn't it have been worse if she'd dragged you to see every new, I don't know, Orlando Bloom film, or something?"

"That _is_ true." Lestrade said with a grin.

"If you two have finished drooling over the dramatic young woman, could we maybe get to the reason John and I are here?" Sherlock suddenly called back to them.

"Ironic how _he_'s the one to criticise someone for being dramatic, isn't it?" Lestrade asked John, with a lowered voice, to which John simply nodded, though he couldn't help but grin too.

* * *

Sherlock had been leaning over the body for 3 minutes, taking in every little detail, before he stepped back and looked towards the ceiling, then to the scaffold from which the victim had fallen or jumped, and then he looked to Lestrade;

"It is as I thought.." Sherlock stated with a smirk. Lestrade gestured for him to elaborate. "Anderson should be fired. Mr. Jones here didn't jump or fall.. He was _pushed_ off the scaffold."

"How can you possibly tell?" Lestrade asked sceptically, "if this is just your way of trying to make me fire Anderson, then let it go; it isn't gonna happen!"

"No, this is me telling you that once again Anderson has reached the wrong conclusion." Sherlock said calmly and continued; "First of all Mr. Jones is wearing his glasses. That alone rules out the possibility of suicide; people with weak sight always takes off their glasses before jumping, because they are to cowardice to watch as they hit the ground.  
Then there's his hands. Look at them." Lestrade and John did as instructed, as Sherlock went on; "as you can tell from the faint bruises, Mr. Jones was clutching onto the edge of the scaffold – _but that doesn't mean it wasn't an accident_" Sherlock mocked an interjection before Lestrade or John could say anything, and continued; "no, however if you look at his knuckles you can tell someone stomped on his hands, in fact hard enough to probably break a few of the fingers, but as the bruises and swelling aren't more obvious this most have happened just before he died, otherwise the blood would have run to the knuckles and turned his fingers blue and they would have been at least double the size they are now."

Sherlock continued to inform Lestrade of his findings for another 5 minutes, which led to Lestrade agreeing with Sherlock, that the only possibility was murder.

"Now that we've established that this was _in fact_ murder, would you mind if I questioned the cast and crew?" Sherlock asked the Detective Inspector.

"You think someone from the production had something to do with this?" John questioned.

"Yes, obviously." Sherlock sighed, rolling his eyes.

"OK, fine." Lestrade said, "but you do not under any circumstances deliberately insult anyone!"

Sherlock nodded before turning on his heel to find a suitable place for the interrogations.

"To be fair, Greg, I don't think Sherlock ever insults anyone intentionally.." John said, but then as he gave it another though, he had to add; "well, apart from Anderson."

* * *

_I am **so** sorry for the delay... I don't mean the one year gap, though I'm sorry for that too - I was gonna start updating this story on a regular basis after I wrote that message a few weeks back, but I had such a hard time piecing this chapter together!  
When I get further into the story, the updating will happen on a more regular basis - I know it will, cause I've already written most of the *important* scenes, I just had a lotof trouble with the beginning of the story._

Also, seeing as Series 2 has aired, I feel I must pin point where we are, canon-vice (canonic? You know what I mean, right?)

_This story is set after "The Hounds of Baskerville" and before "The Reichenbach Fall" - yes, this will (most likely) be important later on... if not in here, then in the sequel, that much I can tell you =P  
_


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three:

Some hours later John, Lestrade and Sherlock were sitting in a small room, having questioned all of the people Sherlock thought might know something about the murder, or the victim, however so far they hadn't found out anything except that the victim was "a nice guy", which so far had been stated by _every_one, so despite his best efforts, Sherlock had sighed and rolled his eyes the last five times.

"So, are we done now?" John asked as he started stretching in his seat.

"I think so.." Lestrade began, as he stood up from his chair, but was cut off by Sherlock:

"No, we need to talk to one more."

"Really? ...I'm starving!" John complained. "Who do we need to talk to, then?"

"That would be me, would it not?" A female voice asked, and all three men looked towards the door, where Ellie Nightingale, the actress, stood. "I was told by one of the officers that you wanted to speak to me as well?"

"Yes." Sherlock simply answered. John looked at the consulting detective, gaping slightly with surprise. Non of the other actors had been questioned, and to John it seemed odd that this young woman would know anything about the murder.

Lestrade looked questionably at Sherlock, however the Detective Inspector had learned that Sherlock always had a reason to question the people he did, even if Lestrade himself had his doubts, so he shook it off, and went to the door asking the actress to take a seat, and led her to the chair at the opposite side of the table Sherlock was sitting at, before taking his own seat, next to Sherlock.

"Would you like a glass of something?" John asked. "Water? Juice? Anything?" He had already risen from his chair, which was on Sherlock's other side, but placed by the wall, in stead of at the table like the others.

"No, thank you, I'm fine.." She answered with a small smile, "but I heard you say you were hungry, when I entered.. I think there's still some pizza left out there, if you want some?"

"Oh, well.." John was slightly surprised – even more so when Sherlock chose to interrupt him, before he could answer the young woman.

"If you're all finished with the pleasantries, could we move on to the reason miss Nightingale is actually here? Or would you three rather have a cup of tea and some biscuits first?"

"No, Sherlock, I'm sure we're all eager to get out of here." Lestrade answered, rolling his eyes.

"Good. Let's start then." Sherlock said and looked at the actress. "At what time did you leave the theatre last night?"

"I think it was around.. eleven?" She hesitated, before continuing: "Yeah.. eleven, half past, maybe."

"Why did you stay so late?" Sherlock asked. "It's my understanding that everyone else – apart from the victim, obviously – left hours before."

"Ehm, yeah.. they did." She answered, again hesitantly as she started fiddling with her fingers.

"You didn't answer my question." Sherlock stated, when it was clear to him, that she wasn't going to continue.

"Oh, no, sorry.." She blushed slightly. "Well, you see.. we open tomorrow night, and I was a bit nervous about the show, so I stayed to practice a bit – the songs especially. Musicals have never really been my preferred genre."

"No. Your vocal cords would have a problem reaching the high notes." Sherlock stated.

"_Sherlock_!" Lestrade exclaimed.

"I'm merely stating a fact." Sherlock said, looking at the detective inspector, not the slightest bit remorseful.

At the other side of the table, the young actress's cheeks had gone completely red. She knew perfectly well that singing wasn't her strong suite, but having someone – especially a stranger – telling her that, made her feel patronized, even if that hadn't been the intention.

"Did you have a sexual relationship with the victim?" Sherlock asked next.

"What?" She asked, as if the question had caught her off guard. "No!"

"Are you sure?" Sherlock checked. Normally he wouldn't bother checking, but this woman acted for a living, she may be a person who could trick him, if he wasn't careful.

"Am I sure?" She asked disbelievingly. "Of course I'm bloody sure! I'm not some cheap _tart_, who just sleeps around with everyone."

"But you were the last person to see him alive, weren't you?" Sherlock asked.

"I suppose I must have been, yes.." She answered, still a hint of annoyance in her voice. Then she thought about the question she had just answered. "Hang on.. you're not insinuating that I had something to do with this, are you?"

"That is what I'm implying, yes." Sherlock answered simply.

"But that's, that's... absurd!" She exclaimed. "I didn't even know the guy's _name_, and you think I killed him?" She could feel tears of anger starting to press on, in her tear ducts.

"I didn't say that I think you killed him." Sherlock started out, "I'm asking you to see your response, so I can work out if you murdered Mr._ Jones,_ had any sort of relationship with him, or just happened to be the last person to see him alive."

"This is just ridiculous!" She yelled a little louder than intended. "First you patronize me, for not having a good singing voice, then you accuse me of sleeping with a guy, who was what – 20 years older than me, and probably married, and then you go and insinuate that I killed him!" By now she was standing up and the angry tears had begun falling down her face. "You're not even a proper police detective are you? No, you're like this.. this.. _consulting_ detective! You're just someone they bring in to _break_ people. Someone who doesn't care about anyone's feelings or if what you say to them, will linger with them forever... But you know what the worst part is?" She asked calmly while glaring at Sherlock, who didn't reply. "I bet you enjoy it. You _like_ having the power to break people. Like you're some kind of god; above everyone else, because you're more intelligent. But you know what? I've got news for you: You're not. You don't know how to empathize with _anyone_, and that makes you a lesser person."

And with that the young woman turned on her heel, and stormed out of the room. Lestrade stood up instantly to stop her, but was stopped by Sherlock's voice:

"Let her go, she knows nothing."

"For God's sake, Sherlock, if you knew she didn't know anything, why did you keep going at her like that!" John asked – clearly disapproving of Sherlock's method – before leaving the room too.

Lestrade and Sherlock was quiet for a minute or two, before Lestrade looked bemused and slightly shocked at Sherlock:

"Bloody hell, did she.. she did.. she deduced _you_!"

The only answer the Detective Inspector got was an angry glare.

* * *

John had followed the young woman out of the room, to see if she was OK. The good doctor never could stand seeing a woman cry, and if the tears had been summoned by his best friend, it just made him feel guilty. After all he was practically Sherlock's babysitter, when it came to dealing with emotions. John had often thought about referring to himself as Jiminy Cricket on his blog, though ever since the whole Irene Adler thing and the Baskerville case, the consulting detective had seemed to develop more of a conscience, John just hoped it was a progression that would continue.

After a bit of running through the halls, John found the woman he'd been looking for, in her dressing room, still sobbing. He gently knocked on the door frame, seeing as the door itself was wide open. The young woman turned around and upon seeing the doctor, she gave a kind smile.

"Hey.. I'm sorry about him, he can be a bit of a dick sometimes." John said and stepped into the room. "Thinking about it, he actually _is_ a dick most of the time."

"Yeah.. can't say that surprises me." She said in a low voice.

"'Course not." John said and put a hand on her shoulder. "You OK, though?"

"Yeah, I'm fine.. just.. fine, ehm.." She looked up at the doctor, and realised that she didn't actually know his name.

"John." He quickly added.

"John.. I'm Ellie." She said and gave him another kind smile. "It's just.. all this; I admit I'm slightly stressed out about the opening tomorrow, cause I don't feel ready – at least not as ready as I would like to be, and then as if it weren't bad enough, we all come in this morning, to see one of the crew members dead on the floor in a pool of blood.." Her voice started to crack, "and he was just such a nice man; always offered coffee in the lounge, and cigarettes out back – I don't actually smoke, but still, the gesture was nice – and I.. I didn't even know his name, and it just.. it _bothers_ me." She drew in a big breath and added; "and then your _buddy_ comes in and makes me think I'm a suspect and all that, and it just.. _I_ just.. couldn't cope."

"That is completely understandable." John said to her, and padded the back of her shoulder. "But to be honest, I'm kind of glad that you said those things to Sherlock. He gets away with the stuff he says to people, way to often; someone was bound to throw something back at him someday."

"Sherlock... that's ehm.. an _interesting_ name." Ellie said, slightly bemused.

"Yeah, well.. he's an interesting man." John replied with a smile. "Anyway, if you're fine I should probably get back.."

"Of course." Ellie said with a sad smile. "You're probably even more hungry now, than you were before."

"Oh.. yeah, I'd forgotten about that." He said, slowly backing towards the door. "I suppose all the pizza's gone now."

"Yeah, I think it is.. sorry." Ellie said.

"No, no.. that's not your fault." John said quickly; he was at the door now. "Well, ehm.. good luck with the show tomorrow."

"Thanks." She said, after having released a light chuckle.

"Well.. see you around." John said, and lifted his hand in an awkward wave.

"Bye." She said, and saw John leave, before she had a thought: "Hey, John!"

"Yeah?" He said, as he popped his head back around the door frame.

"I was just thinking.. God, I hope this doesn't come off the wrong way, but.. would you – and, Sherlock too, I suppose – come to the opening tomorrow?" She asked nervously. "It's just, the entire cast gets some seats for family and friends, but I haven't invited any, and it would be a shame to let them go to waste. Then you could come to the party afterwards as well, and see if anyone's acting suspiciously? It'll just be the production, a bit of family and friends, the press and a few VIPs.. Unless of course, _wonderboy_ out there has already worked out who the murderer is?"

"Nah.. he's good, but he's not _that_ good." John answered cheekily. "And that actually sounds like a great idea, so _yes_, I'd love to come.. well, _we_ would."

"Great." She said with a genuine smile and then went to open the drawer on her dressing table; "I actually have the tickets here, so you can just take them with you." She handed over the tickets to John, and then smiled once more.

"Yeah, that's great.." He said, and then went for the door again. "I'll see you tomorrow evening then!"

As John walked back to the room, where he'd left Sherlock and Lestrade, he couldn't help but smile. He was really looking forward to, hopefully, get to talk more with this lovely woman, whom he greatly admired; not just for her acting talent, but also because she'd dared to stand up to Sherlock Holmes. Of course it wasn't exactly a date, but still – hopefully she'd have the time to chat for a bit at the party.

"Ah, John, finally, there you are!" Sherlock greeted him, as he returned to the room. "We're going to join the cast at the party after the première tomorrow, to see if anyone acts suspiciously!"

John just stood there gaping – sometimes he could swear this man was psychic. Then the consulting detective left the room, and John followed closely after; one thought appearing in his head:

_Damn you, Sherlock _bloody_ Holmes._

* * *

_So.. I'm sorry for not updating again until now, and I feel like I'm starting to sound like a cliché but: This chapter was giving me a hard time.  
Please bare with me, cause this part of the story - the beginning, that is - is the part I hadn't worked out** at all**, when I started writing this story.  
I'm not really sure how to feel about this chapter; I suppose I like parts of it, but then some parts make me cringe.. and it has _so much_ dialogue, and sometimes I can't stand writing dialogue; I feel like everything is "he said, she said, he asked, she answered," you know?_

Anyway, I hope you're not too disappointed with this chapter... it's longer than the first two chapters combined, so hopefully that will be seen as a positive thing =)  
And also, I'm expecting that the "wait" for the next chapter will be shorter, seeing as much of it is already written down.

Oh yeah, and I just realised that I haven't written a disclaimer on the first two chapters, but need I say it: I do not own anything, except for miss Nightingale, I am not associated with the BBC_ and I am not Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, nor do I have any relation to any of them - unless you count the fact that I follow the first two on_ Twitter_._

**Reviews are greatly appreciated!**


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